Of The Shadows
by Mir Queen
Summary: Felicity finds herself the victim of kidnapping when a foe from Oliver's past comes to reap vengeance, leaving Oliver to face a crucial, fateful choice of the heart.
1. Chapter 1: Revenge

Disclaimer: _I do not own nor make any profit off of Arrow. It belongs to The CW, DC Comics, etc._

A/N: AU story set later in Season 2. At least it was supposed to be AU; not so sure after recent episodes... By the way, I think people need to avoid the elevators at Queen Consolidated. Something unfortunate always happens there. A few might recognize this story from my Arrow tumblr blog: _HoodSmoaked_.

**Chapter 1: Revenge**

* * *

Felicity hadn't the faintest idea why she was… wherever she was.

It seemed ridiculous that she would be anyone's personal ransom bait, and she couldn't see how anyone would know about her connections to the vigilante. Either she, Oliver, and Digg were extremely careful or the people who might have guessed were extremely dead. Or psychotically chasing after their mobster fathers, like Helena Bertinelli. And seeing as any skills she could offer Helena on that front were tied up in her currently useless hands, it just didn't make any sense.

But to somebody, it must have made a sick kind of sense.

Otherwise she would not have ended up hanging by her bound wrists from a ceiling beam too high to see clearly, with a gag covering her mouth. She didn't know why the kidnapper had left her glasses, to be honest, but it was the only comforting thing she could find in her situation.

Catching sight of the camera on the wall across from her for the first time since waking up, Felicity shivered at the idea that this might be more than a ransom demand. She tried not to envision anything worse, until she admitted to herself just how little she knew about her kidnapping or the kidnapper.

All she knew was that a man with strains of a vaguely familiar accent had accosted her with a request for directions on her way into the elevators at Queen Consolidated, getting further into her personal space than anyone needed to be as the doors closed. When she felt the pricking at the back of her neck, Felicity had finally understood why.

Now, hanging just low enough for her toes to brush the floor, and left without anyone to even tell her what she had been taken for, Felicity tried desperately not to let her fear spike. The room was one large, drab, gray warehouse with concrete and steel its only design — a despairingly dead space, empty save the camera and Felicity.

She shivered again at the sight of it, hardly knowing why that camera, more than anything, frightened her half to death.

Squeaking and squealing from rusted hinges behind her startled the IT expert into a near-cry; a sound only stopped when she clamped her lips together behind the gag.

When she could finally see the face of her captor, Felicity recognized the same well-tanned attacker from the elevator.

"Ms. Smoak, how nice to see you awake," the large, dark-haired man greeted her with startling cordiality, the accent no longer a simple strain in his voice, but fully fledged Australian in origin. "Oliver will be glad to see it."

With the gag, Felicity had to rely on her eyes and brow to convey her unasked questions. Why had he brought her there? And why was Oliver involved?

"You're curious, I'm sure," the man continued pleasantly, as if he had not drugged her, tied her up, and hung her from the rafters. "I'm not going to hold back, my girl. I think you deserve the truth as much as I relish telling it to you."

That pleasant tone now tentatively belied arrogance and hate simmering beneath the surface, every word filled with bitter sarcasm. Felicity tried not to flinch back from it.

"You see, Felicity," he took up his story, coming to stand right in her line of vision and ignoring her obvious distaste with the use of her first name, "Oliver Queen had the misfortune of leaving me to die on Lian Yu."

Felicity tried to look unaffected, but the truth was she felt like screaming inside. Another of the people from those horrible five years had come back? Her fear multiplied tenfold, though the blonde attempted to smooth her expression as best she could.

"But first," the man added, seeming almost excited by the 'twist' in the story he was telling, "he stole the woman I loved. She was killed, and after seeing her blown up, Oliver then abandoned me to the fire that ruined my face."

Felicity knew there had to be a fault in his logic somewhere, but Oliver had never genuinely opened up about his island years to her in any real detail, so she really had no idea what was true and what wasn't.

"So," the man went on, seeming oblivious to her inner quarrel, stating quite calmly, "I decided I needed a little revenge. What better way than to take his precious Laurel from him?"

Felicity felt extremely confused now in addition to her fear. If he was going to take Laurel, why did he take _her_? It didn't make any sense at all.

"But then," he continued with great enthusiasm, scaring Felicity a little bit more, "I realized that wasn't enough. I had to make him really suffer. Simply taking Laurel Lance away would only fuel his anger and his revenge. I want more than that, you see. I want him to know he failed and to grieve that failure; to look back on a choice he made that never truly gave him victory."

Nothing made any sense to Felicity, no matter how many different ways the crazed man explained it. She needed more information; something to work with and help her warn Oliver of the danger Laurel was in.

However, she was sorely disappointed by the man stepping back from her, "I'm afraid I can't explain anymore now, Felicity. We just have to wait for Oliver to find my little greeting card. Then I can explain in full detail. For now, I have to leave you. Don't go anywhere."

Felicity could have spat in his face had she not been gagged. He seemed to understand her desire, for he grinned despicably as he walked out of sight behind her.

An age must have passed after that. Felicity's arms became a bed of pain she could not ease. With her feet lifted off the ground, there was no way to relieve the pressure and strain on her arms and neck. Her head filled with aching tension as the time crawled by in her looming gray cell. She tried not to imagine what Oliver and Diggle were going through trying to find her, but it looped through her weary, frightful mind all the same. No doubt the purpose of such an empty, bland room was precisely that; to make the captive focus on their own mind until they went crazy.

Just when Felicity thought she would indeed lose her mind with worry and fear and doubt, the door creaked behind her.

The dark-haired man's footsteps were quicker this time, almost eager, until he came to stand before Felicity once again with a satisfied expression more terrifying than his earlier grin.

"Oliver moved rather quickly," he told her, a hard glint in his brown eyes. "You must mean more to him than I thought. Let's have a chat with him, shall we?"

Felicity noticed her kidnapper holding a remote, her fears about the camera confirmed when the screen blipped and Oliver in jeans and a black pullover took over the screen. He stood in a warehouse not dissimilar to the one Felicity and her captor occupied.

From the way Oliver paced the room, fists clenched and shoulders tight, Felicity could easily tell just how angry he was.

"Hello, Oliver," the kidnapper spoke into the small microphone he held.

Oliver spun around to face the camera, and from way his eyes widened, Felicity knew he could see them the same as they could see him. That was the point of the camera, she now understood.

"Slade!" Oliver growled, his voice coming in a little distantly.

"Step a little closer, Oliver. We can't hear you very well," the man named Slade retorted, stepping back to stand right beside Felicity's hanging form.

"What is this about, Slade?" Oliver asked with seeming calm once he had stepped close to the camera. His blue eyes, however, flicked over to Felicity often enough to prove just the opposite.

"Revenge, of course," the Australian man responded condescendingly. "Did you honestly think I'd let you just run free after you betrayed me?"

"Felicity has _nothing_ to do with that!" Oliver argued, growing visibly angrier by the second. "Just let her go."

"The fact you want me to grant her freedom is exactly why I'm keeping her!" Slade growled back.

"Why?" Oliver shouted in return, plainly having reached his wits' end in just a few short sentences. "What does this accomplish?"

"Everything!" the large man snapped, lunging forward a step as if to get in Oliver's face. Felicity flinched at the venom in his tone. "I was going to just kill your darling Laurel, but I saw you with your sweet assistant by chance one day. Lovely little thing, isn't she? All porcelain skin and sparkling eyes, brilliant and innocent and untainted by your shadows. Not your usual type, but then that's just it. There's something about her. Something that means a lot more than you're willing to show. But I can see it. And after I've destroyed that, you'll regret ever meeting her."

"I'll find her, Slade. I'll find _you_." Oliver threatened with every ounce of the vigilante coming forward to mix with the emotions of the man in one powerful persona. Felicity had never seen him quite like that before and it equally intimidated her and made her proud. "And I swear to you, it will be _you_ who regrets meeting her!"

"You may want to consider who else you need to save," Slade said with a swagger in his step and smug confidence in his voice.

Oliver blanched the same as Felicity, the blood draining from his face.

"What are you going to do?" he asked cautiously, voice low and harsh to cover the very real fear underneath.

"It wasn't enough to just take your precious lawyer," Slade informed Oliver mockingly, "You need to suffer more deeply than that. So I'm giving you the perfect choice. Save Laurel from the triad… or save Felicity from _me_."

Oliver inhaled sharply, his eyes pivoting to Felicity in one sharp snap. No matter how much she wished to, the IT expert could not conceal the wave of helplessness that flooded her gaze.

Laurel would always come first.

There was no way around it, Felicity admitted to herself with an ache in her heart. Oliver would always choose Laurel.

"I'll kill you," the billionaire threatened Slade simply, his jaw clenched with unchecked anger. "I'll _kill_ you!"

Slade only snorted at the threat, adding one last taunting piece of information as he turned to gesture at Felicity, "Remember her porcelain skin and those sparkling eyes, Oliver… You know how well Billy and I always did with knives."

Before the screen cut to black, Felicity could hear and see Oliver roaring with outrage, his face unrecognizable through the fury overshadowing it.

* * *

A/N: To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2: Time

Disclaimer: _I do not own nor make any profit off of Arrow. It belongs to The CW, DC Comics, etc._

A/N: Set sometime after Episode 2x09 (Three Ghosts) because I want Barry out of the picture. For the villain's 'reason/motivation', I tried to be a simple and straightforward as possible and I'm pretty sure it will be proven very wrong in the actual series. But for my purposes, it works.

**Chapter 2: Time**

* * *

Felicity could only stare into nothingness as her captor chuckled over Oliver's fury. Fear and desperation clawed their way through her entire body like a filthy disease without a cure.

She was going to die.

Felicity Smoak was going to die in an old, abandoned warehouse with nothing but a camera as witness to her demise.

Even worse, even more terrifying than this truth, was the knowledge that she was going to die slowly. Slade was going to torture her, drag out her pain and suffering until she finally died.

He was going to give her Oliver's scars.

Shivering uncontrollably, Felicity willed herself not to burst into tears. It was more terrifying than she could have imagined to know her own horrible fate. Never would she have wished that upon anyone.

"Oh, now," Slade's babyish voice came close, and the IT expert jerked back as the man's hand brushed her hair back. "Don't you worry, Felicity… You won't last that long. A few swipes and… you're dead."

His grin, that awful, sadistic, mocking grin, forged a higher plane of fear than Felicity thought possible, This evil man was enjoying the torment; he was going to enjoy stabbing and slicing her skin, and shoving a knife between her ribs.

And Oliver wasn't going to save her.

He was going to go after Laurel. He would save her from the triad, and they would end up married for the rest of their lives. Soul mates, lovers, the perfect couple…

For the first time since she had met Oliver Jonas Queen and become a part of his wild, impossible life, Felicity admitted to herself how much that thought hurt her. The thought of Laurel spending her life beside the wonderful, honorable, sensitive man Oliver had become — while Felicity languished in agony and died.

Not one given to hysterics and self-pity, it took a moment for Felicity to accept her realization as the soul-crushing blow that it was. When it did hit her, and she allowed the dark, inevitable future to overwhelm her mind, the tears streaming from her eyes were impossible to stop.

"Poor darling," Slade mocked, a vile grin on his face. "Why don't I let you listen to Oliver's voice while he goes to save his lady love, hm? I've given him a communicator to… ah… keep in touch. Wouldn't want him to lose track of just who's in charge here. Or try and steal _both_ of you from me."

Felicity could only choke on tears and fright, her mind far beyond the ability to care if this villainous man saw her at her weakest. Hopelessness took away one's pride and dignity all too rapidly.

"What?" Oliver's loud, snapping growl sounded near Felicity's ear, and she jumped.

"Tsk, tsk," Slade remarked, pulling a top-of-the-line, military-grade communicator away from Felicity's ear. "Mind your manners, Oliver. Felicity just wanted to hear your voice before the end. She's so happy to know you'll be saving the love of your life and having a bright future together. Makes her sacrifice all worthwhile, you see."

"Shut the hell up!" Oliver shouted, and Felicity felt a brief moment's peace knowing he cared about her enough to hate Slade for hurting her. But it didn't diminish her feelings of hopelessness.

Slade barked a laugh, and set the communicator on a rolling storage unit next to Felicity, something she had not noticed during her initial outbreak of tears.

"There, now," Slade remarked with vile happiness, taking something else out of his pocket and setting a few of its controls before putting it on the shelf beside the communicator. "You're on speakerphone, Oliver. Now Felicity can hear whatever you say. I'm sure you'll reassure her with useless platitudes about saving her, when you know exactly where you're headed. Ah well, the price of love. Oh… and I've set up a little something here to let you know just how much time you have — until your poor little friend dies."

So saying, the Australian pushed one control on the second device, and a very soft ticking began.

"Every five minutes that pass, you'll hear a bell of victory," Slade informed them with satisfaction. "You have precisely 60 minutes. Because, after all, it will take at least that long for Felicity to hear you saving your happy ending."

Having said his cruel piece, the horrible man left at a jog, ignoring Oliver's angry, unintelligible shout. Felicity could only make out a curse and a threat, and that only because she expected such language. It took the explosive slamming of a door for Oliver to stop. There was no reason for cursing a man who couldn't hear him.

"Felicity, I'm sorry," he said throatily, and she could hear the sound of an engine — perhaps the bike, but she couldn't be sure. "I never wanted you to face this — my past catching up to me and everyone in my life. I'm so sorry."

Felicity wished with all her heart she could actually talk to the tortured man. She knew Oliver too well to expect he was feeling anything less than utterly guilty and self-loathing. In the face of his pain, Felicity could allow a minuscule part of her fear to slip away. She needed to express her understanding, but she could do nothing. Tears slipping down her cheeks again, the IT expert tried to make the loudest sound she could through the gag.

Oliver heard her somehow and that, combined with the first bell of the timer, set his cursing to begin anew, "Son of a— He gagged you! How could I not remember that? Oh, God, I'm sorry. I'm just sorry."

Felicity did her best to make a sound that expressed her affirmation of his apology and her reprimand for Oliver blaming himself, but she hardly felt confident in the success of her endeavor. Her emotions still ran much too high to sound anything less than half-hysterical.

"Felicity, I'll find you," Oliver choked out over the communicator. "I _promise_ you. I won't leave you to suffer. _Please_ believe me."

Felicity did believe him. She believed that he would do everything in his power to save her.

As long as he could save her _and_ Laurel.

Laurel Lance was his priority. No matter how terrible Oliver felt, he wouldn't leave Laurel's life to chance so he could save Felicity. It was just a matter of the heart that could not be cheated.

Oliver tried to keep up a slew of affirming words as he did whatever he had to in the background, promising to save Felicity more often than he said anything else. Every promise just broke her heart faster and deeper than the last, because she knew how much Oliver would regret promising an impossibility after she was dead.

At the sound of the timer's eighth bell, the forty-minute mark, Oliver choked on his words and Felicity lost all control of her tears. They fell rapidly, followed by sobs and unchecked by any sense of pride.

"Felicity," Oliver whispered, his rough, pained voice echoing the torment inside.

The woman in question just cried harder, wishing the hero she loved — yes, _loved_ — had never been forced to make such a choice. Oliver would be haunted for the rest of his life. As happy as he would be with Laurel after this was all over and they were together again, Oliver Queen would always hate a part of himself for not saving Felicity as well.

Emotions wild and untamed now, as the panic started to seep into her very bones, the IT expert screamed through the gag when the door once again creaked. It was, she realized too late, a sign that she still had hope of being saved.

For all of her certainty that Oliver would choose Laurel, that he loved the beautiful lawyer he'd waited five years to see again… Felicity had unknowingly held onto a soul-deep need for Oliver to choose _her_. To _want her_. Futilely, Felicity kept a worn out, impossible dream close to her heart, yet buried too far to find. She dreamed of Oliver loving her _back_.

Renewed sobs punctured Felicity's chest and throat with unbearable pressure. Most people wanted to spend the last moments of their life telling that one special person that they loved them. Felicity couldn't even do that; to tell Oliver her feelings would put an entirely new weight of guilt on his shoulders once she died. She couldn't put him through that. She loved him too much.

"Such a heartfelt journey for the two of you," Slade spoke into the dead air, voice tantamount to an electric shock. "I'd love to help you communicate a little better, though. For the last few minutes of Felicity's precious time, I'll let her talk to you, Oliver. I'm sure she's _dying_ to say something very important to you."

In one rough movement, Slade reached around and ripped the gag off of his captive's face. Felicity was startled by the sudden volume of her own cries, and judging by Oliver's incoherent threatening, so was he.

Slade looked pleased by his taunting, and this time he didn't leave the room once his most recent torment was through. He took to pacing the warehouse floor with impatience, the very sight of his eagerness bringing bile up in Felicity's throat.

"Felicity?" Oliver called out for her anxiously, desperately.

There was only one thing Felicity could think to say through her tears, as the tenth bell chimed her final ten minutes in the world.

"Goodbye, Oliver."

* * *

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed _Chapter 1: Revenge_!


	3. Chapter 3: Pain

Disclaimer: _I do not own nor make any profit off of Arrow. It belongs to The CW, DC Comics, etc._

A/N: Set sometime after Episode 2x09 (Three Ghosts) because I want Barry out of the picture. For the villain's 'reason/motivation', I tried to be a simple and straightforward as possible and I'm pretty sure it will be proven very wrong in the actual series. But for my purposes, it works.

_quisinart4_ - I cannot express how beautiful your reviews are! My favorite part was how you noticed Felicity's worry over helping Oliver save Laurel, which came before she actually realized the plan Slade had in mind. Thank you, lovely!

**Chapter 3: Pain**

* * *

Mocking laughter rang in Felicity's ears when, without warning, Slade cut off the transmission, the absence of Oliver's voice more deafening than the roar of a canon.

Silence pervaded the warehouse, Slade heading back to whatever was behind Felicity. She could hear him digging in something, and a shiver raced up her spine.

The eleventh bell chimed when he returned, a horrible sort of herald to his entry. Felicity sickly wondered if he planned it that way.

Five minutes left, she realized. Only five minutes left before she gained scars like the man she loved… and died for.

"So touching," Slade mocked. Every word he spoke was a mockery of her emotions. "I'm surprised you didn't tell him you love him more than your own life. Or is that too much guilt to put on his fragile shoulders?"

Felicity wished she was free to hit him. Just once, she wanted to slap his smug face, even if she died doing it. His disgustingly uncanny insight made her sick to her stomach.

"What?" he asked with false sweet concern. "No babbling? No insinuations to throw my way? Tut, tut. That's not like our little Felicity Smoak."

The increasing tone of intrusive closeness made Felicity positively nauseous. How he knew all of this, she almost didn't want to know. Had he watched her apartment… Queen Consolidated… Verdant… Queen Mansion? Where hadn't this sick, vile, inhuman creature followed her and Oliver?

An invasive feeling overwhelmed Felicity, her breath hitched and irregular. The chime of the last bell, her final moment, echoed at a strangely loud volume in her oversensitive ears. Every sense felt heightened, a paranoiac urge for her eyes to dart around her surroundings almost too powerful to repress.

"And now," Slade breathed reverently from the side, "we begin."

A sob tore its way from Felicity's throat, unbidden and unexpected when it seemed her only capability was to breath in an erratic fashion. Slade chuckled at the sound, full of dreadful enjoyment with his evil sport.

"I haven't even started yet!" he laughed out loud, demented in a way Felicity could not comprehend as she continued to cry.

"Oh, I can just imagine the look on Oliver's face," Slade grinned, his voice growing uncomfortably subdued — quietly manic — as he cut the bottom of her blouse apart to reveal the bare skin underneath. "When he watches that video… _well_…"

Felicity's eye went round with horror, the shock of his sadistic plan holding her tears back until her mind could process the gruesome spectacle Oliver would be forced to witness when he came to find her mutilated body.

Macabre contentment spread over Slade's half-burned face as the realization and revulsion dawned on Felicity's features. Now, more than ever, the blonde wished so badly to hurt him; more than she'd ever wanted to make someone hurt in her entire life. It wasn't enough that Oliver was forced to choose one life over another, it wasn't enough to make him lose another friend. No, this loathsome man would leave Oliver's tortured soul with damning evidence of the choice he'd made; horrific images to taunt his mind, both waking and sleeping. And, though it sickened Felicity to think it, images that Oliver would never get rid of. In his darkest moments, the broken man would watch it over and over to torture himself for his failure.

Felicity knew now that Slade never intended for Oliver to truly save Laurel. She would live, Oliver would be able to ensure her safety… but he would never be able to be with her. He would never be able to truly love her. Not when his soul was so crushed by the full range of Slade's vengeful evil.

The sound of scraping metal assaulted Felicity's ears. The brilliant woman could not close her eyes, even when trying somehow to prepare herself for that which could not be anticipated or blocked out. She tried to steel herself for that first slice of the blade while the despicable man paced before her, the low light barely glinting silvery off of the weapon in Slade's hand.

Felicity had seen Oliver's scars so many times, in so many ways, that it seemed impossible she had not gained one ounce of understanding for them. For what they must have felt like as the knife cut into his body and the torture ruptured his trust and stability in the world.

Like a thief in the dead of night who walked on silent feet before he pounced upon the prize, the searing vice of agony came silently, unexpectedly along her rib cage.

A wild, untamed scream ripped itself from the confines of Felicity's throat. Cold metal burned white-hot through her pale skin, her head slamming back against the blistering pain. Even when the blade finally slipped away, the fire remained and the throbbing blaze sent her head swimming madly.

Slade spoke, his tone mocking again, but the words were lost in the wave of ill balance. A sharp slap brought Felicity back to the reality of her torment, throwing her head viciously to the side and sending her glasses flying.

Broken, inhuman cries echoed in her ears, inducing a world of confusion until she understood they came from her own throat. But she could not stop them. There was no reason to fear humiliation. Not for the monstrous person holding her at his mercy. He had already destroyed her dignity with the blade in his hand.

Through eyes blurred by tears and the lack of her glasses, Felicity watched her killer stalk forward again, blade raised to her left shoulder. Closing her eyes successfully this time, she prayed to black out, to collapse senselessly before the next strike came. There was no escaping the damage, and she did not feel weak by wishing to avoid the pain that would cause that damage.

A sharp edge barely prickled against her shoulder, the vague pressure almost as terrifying as the straight cut for its steady resonance; the seemingly unending ache and sting growing slowly worse as the seconds passed.

A fearsome commotion sounded from somewhere nearby, and before felicity's battered mind could process the strange ruckus, shattering glass interrupted the pain, the horror, for one most glorious moment. Felicity didn't know what happened, who was there, or if she could even trust them.

But in the shocking silence, Felicity felt a sudden rush of safety that only one person had ever inspired in her.

There was no need to look, even if her strained body allowed it, for the roar of pure rage echoing in her ears was too familiar to misconstrue.

"_Oliver_." Slade confirmed the beautiful theory at last, his voice filled with utter disgust and discord.

"You _will_ regret this," Oliver growled out, more animal than man by the sound of his voice. "The very ground you tread will wither away before you stop regretting ever being born. Now… _back away._"

Felicity shivered at the hatred in that beloved voice, amazed that even in such a terrifying state it brought her comfort and dulled her sobbing, hitching breaths. The pain was there, it was killing her every way she could envision, but joy invaded boldly.

"You're an idiot," Slade snorted vainly. "What about Laurel, ah?"

"I wouldn't worry for Laurel Lance," Diggle's strong, rich voice remarked from further away, mocking concern in his tone. Felicity could have screamed with relief to hear her team, her unique little family, there at her side. "Adam Donner and Quentin Lance make quite a formidable team when their loved ones are at stake. And you left a surprising trail in your haste to claim revenge."

Adam Donner working with Quentin Lance? To save their… _loved_ ones? Even in such an unbelievable state, Felicity needed to know what that meant. Her curiosity attacked her even when she hurt so deeply.

Perhaps that was what hope truly was… A perverse joy and humor in everything because it suddenly felt attainable again. Everything suddenly became_ real_ again. Tears of gladness began to fall down her face by some astonishing miracle, overtaking a little of the crushing fear and hopelessness of her mistreatment.

"No!" Slade growled like rabid dog, deep in his chest. "You can't have… You can't have saved them both! You were supposed to choose! I made it so you _had_ to choose!"

"I _did_ choose," Oliver responded, steely anger in his voice. "Laurel's rescue is a happy coincidence I will forever be grateful for. She doesn't deserve to die. Now keep backing away. You will never touch Felicity again."

"Funny, how you forget… my aim!" Slade turned on a dime, throwing his knife straight at Felicity's heart.

Time slowed in her mind as she watched the blade twirl and twirl and twirl in the air. Gunshots rang out in the abandoned warehouse, and an arrow sailed through the air, knocking the blade right out of its path and down to the floor.

The room went quiet in the aftermath, Felicity both unable and unwilling to look up and see what had happened. All she knew was the pain, the growing weakness, and soft breathing from somewhere nearby.

Two hands, calloused and rough yet disarmingly soft in manner, came to lift Felicity's head from its painful position, and she gasped as the movement jolted her strained muscles. Every little muscle and joint in her body set off like a set of dominoes, pressing more agony onto the wound at her rib cage.

"Aah!" Felicity cried out, the wordless vowel strangled in her throat and broken into jagged sections.

"I'm sorry," Oliver apologized, his voice thick with self-loathing and grief. "I'm trying to be careful."

She couldn't speak past the pain to reassure him, but she hoped he could see it in her eyes.

"We have to get you down," he whispered painfully, holding her head between his hands and keeping her gaze honestly. "It's going to be very painful, but… if you need to scream, you don't have to hold back. When it hurts, let it out however you need to, okay? There's nothing wrong with that."

Barely able to manage a nod, Felicity again communicated through her eyes. Oliver was so beautifully gentle and his actions so lovingly concerned, she felt as though he was even more tortured than her somehow. This would kill him for a long time. And it hurt her in more than a physical way because she would be incapable of truly being there for him when he beat himself up.

"I'm going to hold you while John cuts the bonds," Oliver told her softly, worriedly, bending to wrap one arm about her thighs and another beneath her arms. Sharp, intense pain above her ribs jarred her mind and she cried out.

"It's okay," Oliver whispered brokenly into her ear, tears evident in his voice. "I'm here. I'm right here with you. I promise."

Felicity had to hold onto that with the claws of a tiger as John got to work cutting the bindings around her wrists. There was so much strain and so many fiery tendrils of pain that she nearly blacked out twice. It was only Oliver's voice that kept bringing her back until her arms fell freely over his head to encircle his neck.

"You're free," he murmured at last, kissing her temple oh-so-softly. "I'm going to lay you down now. We're going to take care of you."

If she had thought moving was painful, Felicity knew nothing of pain at all. Not until her unhappy men began to clean her wounds. It was in the middle of the first stitch that Felicity's body could take no more, and she blacked out to the sound of Oliver's panicked voice calling her name.

* * *

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed _Chapter 2: Time_!


	4. Chapter 4: Warmth

Disclaimer: _I do not own nor make any profit off of Arrow. It belongs to The CW, DC Comics, etc._

A/N: Set sometime after Episode 2x09 (Three Ghosts) because I want Barry out of the picture. For the villain's 'reason/motivation', I tried to be a simple and straightforward as possible.

To the reviewer _**dhh **_- Are we on the same page here?

First: Oliver did not (I repeat: _did not_) make any choice regarding Laurel. He _did not_ choose her at all, in any way, shape or form. Diggle was the one who found out that Laurel had been saved. As Oliver said in the previous chapter, it was a "lucky coincidence" and "she didn't deserve to die". Not because I had some foolish plan to put her and Oliver together in spite of everything Felicity went through, but because Laurel is a human being and she did not deserve to be a casualty of Slade's vengeance. I did not "have Oliver choose Laurel in his own ways". Oliver's immediate choice here was to follow Slade's trail and find FELICITY. _That_ was the point.

Second: Who said Laurel was unharmed? I never told her side of this story (because obviously my focus was on Felicity and Oliver). All I wrote about Laurel's side of things was that she had been saved by her father and Adam Donner (a situation which Oliver had NOTHING to do with, I might add.) I never once said Laurel hadn't been hurt.

Third: As for Felicity dying, I'm not sure why you assumed this as a fact of my story, because all I wrote was that she "blacked out", not that she died. There is a significant difference between those two things.

You don't have to like my stories or my writing; different people have different tastes. But you also don't have to rip apart the_ idea_ of the story just because it's not your style. If there had been any constructive criticism in your review, I would have accepted it and not said a word to you. Bad grammar? Tell me. Mispelled word? Let me know. Horrible flow? Drop me a line. Not a fan of the particular plot? Find another story to read.

Look for something you do enjoy and when you find it, praise away. If you lift up the authors who write the kind of stories you love, that will more than likely encourage them to write more. And I can't imagine why you wouldn't want that.

Now, on to the final part of this story.

**Chapter 4: Warmth**

* * *

When Felicity woke, once again she had no idea where she was. Panic settled over her with the memory of gray stone, a cold floor, her wrists aching, mocking laughter, a bell chiming her death, a camera recording her suffering… She could still see silver glinting off of a steel blade, and the look of maniacal satisfaction in dark brown eyes as that blade sliced into her skin.

Her panic and fear on overload, Felicity screamed shrilly into the darkness, trying to throw herself up and away from the hot, heavy, suffocating covers only to gasp in sudden pain and fall onto her aching back again. Everything caused more burning torment to wash through her, and Felicity's screams turned to sobs.

A door flew open beyond the scope of her vision, more memories of slammed doors and creaking hinges clouding her fraught mind, and another wild, shrill scream escaped her throat.

Someone called to her, voices overwhelmed her mind, but she could make no sense of them. She didn't want to. They would only mock, and torture, and destroy.

"Felicity!"

Oliver's voice finally penetrated the fog of fear and confusion like the clearest whistle. Felicity focused all in one abrupt second upon him, blindly reaching out towards the blur that was Oliver Queen. Her sobs, tearless but very real, deafened her with their volume and intensity.

"Hey!" he called to her, immediately grasping her shaking hands in one of his. "You're safe. You're with me. I'm right here. I'm not leaving."

Something shifted in her mind, ever so subtly. Felicity knew he was telling the truth, even lost so far in the depths of her fright. She gripped his hand like a lifeline, watching mindlessly as the skin turned mottled red and white beneath her grip. Oliver didn't even flinch, moving up onto the bed and sliding down beside her. With his other hand, he offered up her spare glasses and awkwardly yet carefully slipped them on with his free hand.

The covers began to move while Oliver's hands remained occupied, and Felicity nervously twitched a glance over his shoulder to see the reason.

Moira Queen stood beside the bed, pulling the covers back up around them. The older woman's eyes were clouded with deep emotion Felicity felt far too distracted to label.

Diggle stood not far beyond the Queen matriarch, face grim and eyes disturbingly angry. The expression reminded Felicity more of Oliver when he wore the hood, not of Diggle the soldier, who was typically the calm reasoner of their trio.

Thea and Roy also took up a stance with Raisa, the housekeeper, the three of them much closer to the door and the former two much less comfortable with the scene they were witnessing. Roy held Thea closely, murmuring in her ear, but his keen, disturbed eyes darted constantly to the bed.

While the IT expert wondered what had occurred to bring these people together in this room, and who knew what details — now that Oliver's relationship with Slade may have been exposed — she could not truly focus on anything with that much detail unless it was a possible threat. Every sound, every vibration, struck her as an imminent attack. Her body twitched and jerked at strange moments, as though someone was sticking her with a cattle prod, and her pains magnified with every single jerk.

"It's okay, Felicity," Oliver murmured warmly, intimately as she once again shot wary eyes across Moira, Thea, Roy, and Raisa. "No one is going to hurt you. We all care about you."

"Yes, sweetheart," Moira whispered low, obviously taking care to be gentle and quiet. "We just want to help Oliver take care of you."

Felicity wasn't sure why, but the forceful mother's sincere words struck her as _safe_. She had barely known the woman on any interpersonal level until the past several weeks, and that mainly through business talks with Oliver and his mother. All she knew was that Moira shared her son's ability to make Felicity feel at ease when she was troubled.

"Okay," Felicity finally was able to whisper, albeit with a wobble in her voice. Warm, kind smiles from mother and son were her reward for trusting them.

"Just try to rest, okay?" Oliver suggested, brushing blond locks back from Felicity's forehead. "You don't have to fall asleep, just try to relax as much as possible. I'll be by your side the whole time."

Exhausted, but thoroughly unwilling to sleep, Felicity nodded slightly at the idea, careful not to send anymore jolts through her aching, hurting body than she had to.

Moira shooed the others from the room quietly, although Digg didn't seem prepared to leave at all. It was only when John caught Oliver's eye that the former soldier finally agreed to leave. He cast a look of apology and protectiveness to Felicity as he turned to go, and she tried her hardest to return some form of forgiveness and understanding to him. Whatever he was going through after her ordeal, it was a very dark place and she didn't want him to linger in it.

In the wake of the door closing behind Diggle and Moira, Oliver shuffled so that he could put his arm beneath Felicity's neck. The slight movement renewed Felicity's awareness of her ribs. Unable to stop herself, the IT expert reached down tentatively to feel the beginning of the bandaging around her ribs and stomach.

"I thought we lost you," Oliver informed her in a soft, grief-stricken voice. Instantly, Felicity's eyes darted to his drawn face. "You blacked out… Then your heart stopped for a moment when we arrived at Verdant… I thought for sure you—"

He stopped point blank, swallowing hard against the pain of his memory. Closing his blue eyes for a long moment, he took deep breaths to settle himself.

"You've been asleep for hours," he finally went on, and Felicity could see the wall against his feelings was only partially re-erected. "There was nothing to quell my anxiety. Diggle was… I've never seen him like that. Usually it's me, but…"

Shaking his head, Oliver couldn't seem to find the words for what he had experienced with John that night and what Felicity had seen in the bodyguard's eyes just minutes ago.

Yet even the little bit Oliver had spoken so far steadied Felicity's mind to an impossible degree, and she felt a sort of calmness settling over her. It was the same feeling she had experienced when she knew Oliver had come to save her.

"Talk," she said simply, hating the neediness in her voice but unable to prevent its release. "Please?"

Oliver smiled with deep sadness, tenderly stroking Felicity's forehead as he complied. "Why don't I tell you about when I was little? I've got lots of ridiculous antics to tell you about. And I had even worse cover stories than I do now."

"Please," was all she could think to say, once again gripping his fingers for dear life.

By some miracle, despite all her fear and anxiety and constant pain, Felicity fell asleep to the sound of Oliver's voice, telling her stories of the childhood he had all but lost in the wake of his painful regeneration on Lian Yu.

Days passed in this fashion, Oliver bringing meals and helping her eat what little she could safely stomach, checking her wounds, brushing her hair with his fingers, comforting her after the night terrors woke her up with screams, and sitting with her to tell lovely stories of his youth. There were more than enough stories to fill almost every free moment in the first several days of her convalescence at the Queen mansion. The only interruptions were when Moira helped her with bathing; she was the one person Felicity could stand to lay a hand on her, outside of Oliver and John.

When Oliver began the story of his reckless fourteenth birthday one night, Felicity started to wonder if he would have many more truly _good_ memories to tell. By his own admission, Oliver had become a holy terror once puberty left him free and clear — a cute, flirty, audacious boy who never had any limits or discipline. And he had slowly grown into a fresh-faced young man with even less limits and a much larger allowance. Those years began the personality which Oliver equally loathed and was renowned for.

However, even when Oliver's stories became more callous and stupid than funny and charming, Felicity absorbed it all with an appreciation of the man she had fallen in love with. The ways in which he had changed and was willing to open up to her about things he had previously repressed.

One long month passed in a semi-comfortable bubble in her guest room at Queen mansion, but while Felicity loved the safety she felt in Oliver's home and in his arms, she also felt extremely weak for not pushing herself to get up. To stop screaming at unexpected touches from anyone aside from Oliver, John, and Moira. To stop burrowing into the covers and hiding from the world whenever Oliver left her side for a brief moment. To start caring what had happened in the isolated month since Slade Wilson took her prisoner. To remember just how strong she was and live like it.

It all came to a boiling point when Oliver had to attend a board meeting at Queen Consolidated. It was one of those sink or swim meetings Felicity rationally understood Oliver could not miss.

None of that rational understanding kept her from sobbing, crying, and shaking during the four hours Oliver was gone. She missed him and his warm, steady embrace. She was afraid without him as her protector against all the terrifying shadows in her mind.

He came home like the devil was on his heels, bursting into the room and throwing his suit jacket aside as he sprinted to Felicity, wrapping her up into her arms so tightly she couldn't see outside of them.

"Thank you," she quietly told him hours later, squeezing his hand with utmost gratitude.

A long silence overcame them, and Felicity worried he was upset with her for being so emotional and clingy.

"I should have found you sooner," Oliver finally whispered, voice cracking under the weight of his guilt. Felicity's heart ached for him. "But you see… I didn't have my IT girl manning the computers… for me."

Overriding the last two words was a shaking sob Oliver could not hold in. Giving in to his feelings with honest, open grief, the hero buried his face in the pillow beside Felicity's head, his stubble brushing against her smooth cheek while he cried freely. From the sound of his cries, it must have been the first time he had truly, fully released his emotions over what occurred with Slade.

Her own tears dried up, Felicity just held onto the wonderful man who had supported her for a solid month without ceasing.

"I love you," she said plainly, completely unashamed, but more importantly — filled with the conviction that she would never let another day go by without telling Oliver how she felt. She could have died at Slade's hands. And the reason she hadn't… was the man in her arms.

"I love you, too," Oliver whispered, gulping back the last of his tears in an effort to be heard as he pulled back to look her in the eye.

"Help me be strong again?" Felicity begged softly, grasping his dress shirt with desperate fingers.

Oliver smiled gently.

"Always."

* * *

-The End-


End file.
